The Country who Waited
by Albilibertea
Summary: The Doctor found a boy with emerald eyes and sandy blond hair in a field one day. (A series of Doctor Who/Hetalia crossover oneshots/drabbles. Prompts are welcome!)
1. A Country who Waited

**AN:** Hello! So, I've been into Doctor Who lately and OMG I'd die if I didn't do any crossover! I'm still new to the fandom, though, so if there are any mistakes, please know that I'm _so so_ sorry! Also, this is un-beta'd (I'm still in a hopeless search to look for a beta that can put up with my laziness and crazy schedule), sorry again!

Anyway, enjoy~

**Warning: **Feels, feels, feels a lot of feels, me ignoring Amy and Rory (sorry again! I_ love_ them but I just couldn't fit them into this) and my English ._.

* * *

**Doctor Who and Hetalia Crossover**

_The Country who Waited_

Once upon a time, in a freshly new land, the Time Lord in our story saw a little boy curling up under a tree like a bundle of green leaves with yellow straw sticking out on the top. With careful steps and gentle hand, he came close to the kid and nudged him a little on the shoulder.

'Hey there little one, what are you doing here?' The Doctor whispered, rocking back and forth a bit as he was really excited to see the first inhabitant of this land, but not wanting to scared the kid either. Slowly, the mop of hair stirred and an adorable face lifted up from the green coat and emerald eyes blinked, looking up at him but not actually seeing him at all. The kid rubbed his face and like consciousness had finally dawned on him, sat up abruptly, almost bumping to his head in the progress.

'Who are you? What do you want?' The kid shrieked in a high, bell-like tone of a child. Normally, the Doctor loved to hear that kind of pure voice very much, but that of this boy was laced with such fear and alarm that weren't supposed to be there at all and it made him wonder what had happened to the other. In fact, the kid's eyes were wide and full of apprehension but also fierceness. Children at his age shouldn't have a look like that. It belong to those who had lived too long in danger and no longer believed in a safe life or happy endings.

(Then again, the Doctor himself had never liked endings either, happy or not)

'It's fine. I don't want to hurt you.' He said tentatively, trying to sooth down the boy.

'Really?' The kid asked and he felt something inside him break at the relief and hope in his voice. Innocent emerald eyes bore right to his, as if trying to rummage through layers and layers of time in them, searching for something to ensure, to trust.

'Yes. In fact, I just got here minutes ago. You can call me the Doctor.' He smiled warmly, patting the boy head. 'Now why don't you tell me what is your name and why you are here all by yourself? Where is your family?'

A look of horror laced with sadness appeared on the kid's face and the Doctor listened in shock as he, Arthur, told him about how his brothers usually bullied him, how people hated him and how he was being chased every now and then. Such a tragic life for a soul that was still so young and pure. He mused, putting a hand up to clean dirt on the boy's cheek.

'Then do you want to run away with me?' The Doctor asked out of consciousness. It took a while to realize what he had just said but really he didn't care much. He was in need of a companion anyway.

'Run? Run where?' The kid asked, surprised.

'Every time, every where you want' He grinned. 'I have the best ship in the universe that can travel through time and space! I can take you out of here, to somewhere far, far away' He said enthusiastically, flailing his hands around for emphasis.

The boy's eyes widened at each words. He then nodded eagerly, and somehow the Doctor got the impression that it had been a long time since the boy last had such a happy smile like that on his face.

They parted for a while since the Doctor needed to get back to the TARDIS and brought it here when the kid said something about giving his fairies and elves a farewell. Smiling lightly, he walked (okay, maybe bounced a little) to the blue box, already thinking of where to take Arthur to.

It was then he looked at the data on the TARDIS that he knew he had made a stupid mistake.

The Doctor couldn't take Arthur with him.

Because the boy was a country.

* * *

He sat at the front door of the TARDIS, legs dangling down on the air. With a sad look on his face, he watched as the little boy he once knew and had let down pointed a sword at his mentor, claiming independence of his own. Hundred years had passed since that first day, he never came back, not that he had enough courage anyway. Arthur had waited, for a long time and what hurt him the most was that he was still waiting. Such a stubborn kid.

He wondered how did Arthur feel about him breaking the promise like that, but it was obvious that the kid changed. He was stronger, bigger and his tears ceased as he grew up everyday. The Doctor didn't know if he was happy about that or not.

He had had no choice, though. A country couldn't travel through time and space because of the risk of landing right on his/her land (self?) in the future, or worse, in the middle of its destruction. Beside, countries had duties to fulfill and people to live for. It was not as if they could just run away and everything would be left behind.

Then again, the Doctor never actually left at all. He was always there, at every states of Arthur's life. Because country or not, the kid was under his protection and even though he could never take the boy away, he could at least being an invisible voice in his head, or sometimes an imaginary friend.

There was certain disadvantages, of course. He couldn't talk to Arthur, couldn't show him directly that there was someone still cared for him. It hurt a lot, when Arthur was curling up and crying himself to sleep but all the Doctor could do was watched and hovered his hand above him. Never actually touched. Maybe he really was a coward after all.

And so, he stood behind and watched as time passed by and Arthur, or England, grew up with pain, sadly, more than actual happiness. But a miracle finally happened.

The Doctor observed in delight as one day Arthur found a little boy in a field. Somehow, he knew that that boy would make Arthur happy. And he smiled. Arthur had found someone to give his trust and love to, he could let go of the memory about the Doctor now. It made him glad and sad at the same time.

It was some years later that the Doctor was proved to have been wrong.

Alfred, also known as America - the boy whom Arthur found in the field, left. Just like a wind that blew through, leaving nothing but a trail of cold and emptiness. The Doctor knew it all along. That was why he hadn't left. The moment he was about to control the TARDIS to fly away, something tugged him back. A churning feeling inside his stomach, the low hum of the TARDIS, as if asking him to stay a bit more, changed his mind. He stayed. He kept an eye on their time together silently, trying to figure out what was worrying him. Arthur smiled and laughed more. He certainly was happier than the Doctor had ever seen.

But why did the feeling of unease still haunt him?

And then things went wrong.

He didn't know what had changed, but there was certainly something had. Even though neither Arthur or Alfred noticed anything, he knew. He just didn't know what would come with this change and if anyone would be happy about it.

Well, he had the answer now, when Arthur dropped his musket and sank to the muddy ground in the rain. He cried, cried for those better days that had been out of reach, cried for himself, cried to Alfred, mumbling desperate pleads for the other to come back.

But Alfred walked away, never looked back once. And at that very moment the Doctor just wanted to hug Arthur, his little boy, little country, close and murmured courage to his ear. He wanted to come to him, grab his hand and took him somewhere far, far away. Helped he run.

But he did none of those things. He couldn't interfere a country's lifetime because it would change history. So he – or rather, his hologram, since he was standing in the TARDIS, watching - just stayed still where it was, invisible and watched every shake of Arthur's shoulders, heard his silent tears and felt his pain spreading through the air, painting a dull colour to the scene that had already been so melancholy. It took a while for a certain sentence of Arthur's plead to reach his ears.

'Please come back, Alfred. What have I done wrong? Please...please...come back_...Doctor_.'

The word froze him and he felt as if an ice bullet had found its way through his two hearts. Arthur still remembered him. He still clung to the promise of a long time ago. He never forgot.

'Please, Doctor. Take me away. Haven't I waited enough? I just want to run...'

Arthur's pleads echoed in his head, shattered any thoughts and what was left was a dull, aching pain. The knowledge that Arthur was still waiting hurt and yet surprised him a great deal. It was touching and depressing. He didn't know what to do anymore.

Slowly, the Doctor let his hologram stepped forward and reached out a hand like he should have done a long time ago. His hand went through Arthur like a ghost but he didn't care, he just wanted to do something for this creature. Wrapping his arms around Arthur, he sang an old lullaby to the boy's ears, suddenly felt wetness on his own cheeks too.

Somehow he had a feeling that Arthur could feel his tears as well.

* * *

People said it would be sunny after the rain and everything would be fine again. However, the Doctor took the liberty to doubt that.

After that rainy day and months full of tears, he saw a twist in Arthur's life. A twist that was by no mean could convince him to leave even though Arthur had gone through his grieving state. No, the Arthur who stepped out of that state was not his Arthur. His little boy, little country was no where to be found now. Instead was a monster lurking behind that red coat and sickly sweet voice and gentleman-like manners. A monster that killed and robbed and destroyed as the Doctor desperately searching for something to make sure that his Arthur was still there, deep inside the monster in the name of an Empire that was now in possession of his body. And luckily, after some few nights of witnessing the crystal fell from those very eyes of the now-mighty Empire, he knew he hadn't lost Arthur forever.

Once again, the reel of time spun and he found himself watch in horror as the bomb raids happened every nights in Arthur's country. He could feel the ugly pain that was inflicted upon his little boy when the land was torn and damaged under countless explosions.

They said the heart of a country was his/her capital and the Doctor was soon confirmed about that fact when Arthur's cries of agony cut through the air like a neat tear in a fabric jammed right to his ears every night. And all he ever did was to swing his invisible arms around the boy and sing him songs that probably never could be heard. Thousand years and he still hadn't have enough courage to meet Arthur face-to-face again.

It wasn't help that this time Arthur didn't just wait for him, but also for Alfred. Their relationship had developed a bit through a previous World War and yet the other still refused to help Arthur in this Second. It made him angry. The boy had waited for him in a long time and now he had to wait for another one too. How could he be so annoyingly persistent? So stubborn, so blind, so...so...

Hopeful?

Arthur had clung to the Doctor's promise for years and now he also agreed to wait for the one who once betrayed him to come without any proper guarantee. After so many things that had happened, he couldn't understand why Arthur hadn't given up waiting, ever.

'Because you're a hero, aren't you Alfred? You'll come to save me.' Arthur mumbled one night during the Blitz, eyes closing tight - a way he did to reduce the pain, though the Doctor doubted the result was anywhere near sufficiency. 'You will come. Because I believe you, idiot. I know you will.' Arthur repeated those words in an endless chant, a single tear fell down his cheek.

Maybe Arthur wasn't just waiting for the Doctor or Alfred, but for the day he stopped waiting as well.

* * *

'Seriously, why do you keep inviting my people to travel with you?' Arthur asks as he pours the Doctor a cup of tea, though his voice is anything but annoyance. The Doctor smiles a little and just carries on gazing at Arthur without answering his question, not that Arthur expected him to anyway.

Hundred years has passed and the Doctor is genuinely surprised at how things has changed, how the world's number-one position reversed and so did people's hearts. He remembers feeling a fluttering sensation in his stomach when Alfred came back for Arthur one night when the Blitz was going on and everything seemed so hopeless, extending a hand to lead his little boy out from under the shadow. He smiled as days passed and wounds healed. He shed tears with Arthur when his Empire shattered but the boy himself didn't fall apart this time. Because Alfred was there to hold him together, more effective and real than the Doctor ever could through his hologram's ghost-like form.

He laughed at Arthur's usual quarrel with Francis and Alfred. He let his mouth hang open when Arthur returned Alfred's confession, never before realized that his boy had been in love for a long time. And some years later, he was rendered speechless when Arthur suddenly looked straight to his eyes one day and said 'Hello, Doctor.'

The Doctor had not known that he had come to meet Arthur for real, not by illusion. And yet Arthur was still indifferent when he saw him. It hurts a bit, really. His little boy just acts as if thousand years of waiting and him breaking the promise are nothing. He wants to ask why, but never venture to voice the question.

The Doctor and Arthur settles into a normal rhythm pretty quickly. He visits once in a while, popping up now and then in a world conference just to scare the hell out of other countries that had offended Arthur, to the other's pure amusement. Arthur never mentions the need to run away nor he ever offers him. But the curious feeling at the back of his head about the boy's indifference just refuses to lie still and now, sitting in Arthur's garden, it suddenly takes over his body.

'Did you wait for me after I had left?' The Doctor blurts out out of consciousness, unable to stop himself.

Arthur looks at him for a while with intense emerald eyes as he fidgets nervously in his chair like a little child waiting for being scolded. He isn't sure that he himself is really looking forward to the answer.

'I never waited.' A small smile tugs at Arthur's lips turns to a giggle when the Doctor look at him as if he had three heads.

'B...but you said...I heard! That day in the rain...' He mentally slaps his face for letting that information slip. And it soon turns to a desire to choke himself to death when he sees Arthur's face falls a little. Regardless of his new relationship with America, it's still a painful memory to recall.

'I said it on purpose.' Arthur says quietly after a while. 'I hoped that you'd hear my entreaty and touched by my current situation. Then you would stop hiding in the shadow and come out to take me away. Seemed like I was wrong.' He sighs, standing up to go inside to refill the teapot when the Doctor keeps sitting there, trying to comprehend what he has just heard.

So Arthur is aware of the fact that his race as a country does not allow him to run away all this time? If that time in the Revolutionary War was just his desperate attempt to go against the rule of nature in a midst of agony, it means...

'I know.' Arthur stops midway through the door, turning his head a little. 'You didn't break the promise. You came back. Throughout my life, you have always been there. I always can feel your touch through the hologram. I understand it all, don't worry.' He looks back with a smile. 'I'm the Kingdom of Magic, after all. Don't forget that next time you wants to hide in the TARDIS and stalk me through a clone.'

With that, Arthur steps inside and once again the Doctor are rendered speechless.

So…Arthur never has to wait for him. Does that mean the Doctor can't call him 'The boy who waited' anymore? Nah, he still had to wait for Alfred nonetheless. That counts too!

'Well...It seems the boy who waited, waits no more.' He mumbled to himself, pleased.

Now then the Doctor finally doesn't have to worry about being chided by his companions for breaking the promise to their own nation anymore.

**End?**

**AN: **Ehm I think it's a little rush at the end but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. I just love Doctor and England so much~~~ Reviews would be nice :3


	2. Home

**AN**: Hi! I have three big news to announce!

_- First new_s_:_ OMG this fic has reached over 250 views I'm so happy jsagrubscgejhgfsjdgbxdzngv! Thanks for all of your support! Big big thank to anyone who has read, fav, followed The Country who Waited, it means a lot to me.

_- Second news:_ I finally decided to turn this into a series of Doctor who/Hetalia crossover one-shots/ drabbles! *throw flowers* I just can't stop thinking of how great this crossover is and you guys' support helped me make up my mind~ You are all great! Great! Greattt!

_- Third news:_ I also take prompts! Ta-daaaa! If you have any prompt about this crossover, please let me know (pm me here or go anon on my tumblr if you like :3) and I'll see what I can do ^^~ (especially prompt about England and 11th Doctor) You can choose the story to take place in the same time with_ The Country who Waited,_ or a completely stand-along fic. I'll be pretty busy with exams for the next three weeks but I won't neglect any prompts! Promise!

Ok, enough of my rant. To the story! (drabble, actually)

* * *

**Hetalia/Doctor Who crossover series**

**Home**

_In which the Doctor found his second_ _home _(**Warning**: spoiler for the 50th anniversary)

* * *

The Doctor was happy. He had found a destination for his journey, he finally had somewhere to return, he didn't commit genocide against his own race. Never did, never would. So he was happy. The journey had yet to end, but at last he knew where he was going. The knowledge lit up hope in his eyes, spreading warmth in his hearts, bringing peace to his soul. It was wonderful.

It was then he started to wonder. What about his little boy? Where was his _home_?

'You're sitting in my house and yet you asked that, Doctor?' England, no, Arthur, quirked an eyebrow at him, his teacup half way to his lips.

'I didn't say _'house'_. I said _'home'_.' The Doctor shrugged. 'Where you could come back to. One day.'

Arthur set his cup down and frowned a little as if he was trying to remember. The Doctor thought back to the day he first met Arthur - a little boy sleeping under a tree in a golden field. He had followed Arthur through every states of the boy's life and yet he had never seen the other called anywhere his home. Maybe because he himself was the country, or it simply because he didn't want to tell the Doctor.

'I don't have one.' Arthur said after a moment, a look of sadness crossed his face.

'Sure you must have one! Everyone has! Somewhere to go back to when you're tired, somewhere that has someone waiting for you, somewhere sunny, and windy, and...' The Doctor dropped mid-sentence, flailing his hand around like it would do any good to deliver his point. Arthur giggled a little at that.

'No, Doctor. I really don't have anywhere to come back to.' Arthur's face fell again. His emerald eyes looked tired, tainted with wars and time. 'I live for my people only. When this country falls, I'll just return to the seabed, maybe.' Arthur smiled bitterly. 'Though other countries do have somewhere to come back to, I suppose. America, Canada, India,...they come back to me. They know I'll be waiting in my garden, those idiots. I never can let go of them. France comes back to where Jeanne is buried, Austria to Hungary, Russia to his sisters,...But me...I don't think so.'

'There must be somewhere, Arthur.' The Doctor whispered, reaching out to take his little boy's hand.

'And why would I need one, Doctor?' Arthur queried. 'I have you, I have other countries though they're mostly idiots. I know that you guys will be there for me and that's enough. When my land crumbles and the sea embraces me, I'll know that there are people, countries that will remember. I'll be the place for others to come back to and I'm content with it. That's all I can ask for. I accept it.' Arthur said and the Doctor found himself at loss of words.

'Just please, Doctor.' The Brit continued. 'When you finally find Gallifrey, _know_ that you still have a second home…on Earth.' His little boy smiled and squeezed his hands gently. The Doctor opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a while before finally smiled back, tears brimming in his eyes.

'I will.'

* * *

It was wonderful that he now knew where he was going. But he was also happy that he now discovered a second home. A second home which had a rose garden where a country with hair as gold as morning sunlight and eyes as lively as the forest in the spring stood, watered the plant and waited for a wheezing sound. A sound that brought hope to everyone, including an island country.

_End?_

* * *

**AN:** The 50th Special just left me speechless! I cried a lot and it was because I was too happy ; v ;_ An Adventure in Space and Time_ is awesome too! And The _Five(ish) Doctors Reboot_! Arghhhh I've been spending the whole week fangirl-ing over Doctor Who =w= What about you guys? And because this is too short, I'll post the next one-shot in a couple of hours. Until then…reviews?


	3. Scones and Soufflé

**AN: **There you go! As promised!~ This one-shot is dedicated to Aini Minamino and Đa Diện Miêu. Thank you for sticking with me till the end. You girls rock!

**Warning:** ridiculously ridiculous. I want to try sth other than angst. I tried.

* * *

**Doctor who/ Hetalia crossover series**

**Scones and soufflé**

_In which the Doctor tries England's scones and decides that yeah, maybe Clara's soufflé is not bad after all._

The Doctor feels Sick. Not just sick. He feels Sick with a capital S, bold and italics as well. And what can cause a great Time Lord like him sick? Well, the answer is right on the table in a form of a bunch of charcoaled, odd-looking objects which look like they came from a different universe. Yes, that can totally make the Doctor feel sick (hey! It's very scary, okay? Don't judge him!)

'Come on! Try it! I made them especially for you.' Arthur says cheerfully, eyes glinting with hope. Why can't his attitude has a direct ratio with his culinary produce, really?

'Arthur...if you want to retaliate me for hurting your dear Elizabeth, there're many other ways. Ban me from taking your people to travel, maybe?' The Doctor suggests, rubbing his temple nervously.

'What are you talking about?' Arthur blinks and then gasps. 'Oh yes. Thank you for reminding me! Your TARDIS will land into mud every time it lands on the British soil now.'

The Doctor knows his mouth is hanging open like an idiot but he can't help it. How can his little boy be so cruel to Sexy? Turn the ground where she lands to mud? That's outrageous! Then he won't ever visit Arthur again! Yes! Not ever again.

The Doctor is too busy thinking of various (ridiculous) ways to make Arthur regret his decision to notice a pout has formed on his lips. The British nation raises an eyebrow at that.

'And here I thought I've had enough with children in adult form. Grow up, Doctor. Gosh, I can't believe I just said that to a bloody 900-year-old Time Lord but not America.' Arthur says with amusement. The Doctor tries to come up with some witty remarks, but finds himself huffing like a petulant child instead. 'There's no point of being grown-up if you can't be childish sometimes!' He says.

'But the problem is that you're being childish 24/24 now!' Arthur counters immediately.

'Nah nah nah I don't hear anything! I won't eat anything! No, no, no!' The Doctor rants and England's hand is starting to itch for a gun.

'Even a brat as America is more co-operative than you!'

'Then give them to him!' He yells. There is no way the Doctor is going to eat _that_. No. He swears he can see that thing moving!

'I can't believe you're afraid of a batch of scones!'

'A batch of black, moving scones? Yes! Of cou- OW!' The Doctor yelps as a kitchen towel finds itself having the honour of kissing the face of a Time Lord and falling to the ground in a happy heap (if a towel could feel, though)

'FINE! Then go! I don't want to see you again!' Arthur cries, tears welling in his eyes and storms back to his room.

After a moment of frozen, a loud bang of the door to Arthur's room slaps the Doctor out of his dumbfounded state and the Doctor let his head hit the table.

A scone is rolling out from the stray, he notices. _Great._

* * *

'So you refused my boyfriend's scones and then wondered why he was mad at you?' America sighs, adjusting his glasses with a what-the-hell-I-have-got-myself-into look on his face.

'How can I know he'd be that upset? And Oi! Who gave you the right to call Arthur your 'boyfriend'? The Doctor scolds. He and America have met before and let just say their relationship is rather...messy, with the Doctor being all protective and America being a stubborn brat 24/24. He can't trust the kid after what he has done to Arthur, regardless of the fact that America did come back. So that was why he is now confused whether to be relief that there is someone here who can comfort Arthur or to be annoyed at the fact that America actually has the key to the house and is now lounging on the couch as if he owned the place. (Well, not that the Doctor has any rights to be here either, after Arthur told him to get out)

And that's not even the worst problem. Another not-any-less-irritating country has decided to tag along with America and is now lurking around to find where Arthur _'hides the wine'_ as he said. France.

'Mon lapin always gets like that when someone runs away from his_...food_. Which is a daily event.' The French nation chuckles, swirling a wavy lock of his hair as he paces around the room. The Doctor doesn't like the way he called Arthur _'mon lapin'_. Not a bit.

'Shut up, France.' America glares at the Freach and then looks back to the Doctor. Thanks God the guy can actually be serious when it comes to Arthur. 'He always puts a lot of effort into his cooking, you know. Especially to people that mean a lot to him.' The young nation smiles a bit sheepishly. 'He won't get upset easily if the one who runs away from his cooking is not important.'

The Doctor bites his lips. Though it's unbelievable but he knows America is right. Arthur is rather emotional and although he appears grumpy on the outside, he cares a lot. How ironic it is that the Doctor doesn't like America because the kid hurt Arthur and now he himself did exactly the same (albeit less dramatic).

'So what do we do now? I'm not sure he'd want to meet me anytime soon. He has locked himself in his room for hours.'

'Well-' America is cut off as the front door suddenly burst open. The Doctor remains unfazed as a familiar face pokes into the living room when America and France definitely do not scramble to find the nearest available weapons.

'Ok...that is not how I expected to be greeted.' Clara raises an eyebrow at the two easily-triggered nation. 'Now who wants to help me?' She addresses the two shopping bags in her hands.

'Who the hell are you?! How could you get here?!' America hisses, hand draws to the back of his bomber jacket which the Doctor has no doubt is concealing a gun or...grenades.

'Say the one who didn't lock the door. Let me guess, America?' She smirks as America's eyes go wide. The Doctor cheers mentally in his head. 'Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.' She winks and the Doctor notices America and France suddenly have their cheeks tinted pink. That's rather amusing.

'Let me carry that. But what are you doing here? I told you to wait in the TARDIS.' The Doctor asks while leaning in to give Clara a kiss on the forehead as a greeting. He then takes the two bags and peeks inside.

'Well, I can't sit still in the TARDIS knowing that you upset my country again, can I?' Clara rolls her eyes. Just when the Doctor is about to reply, France jumps in.

'How caring of you, fair lady. May I ask for your name?' The blonde smiles charmingly, offers her a rose that seems to come out of no where.

'Clara Oswald. And nice to meet you too...France?' She giggles a bit and accepts the rose. The Doctor suddenly feels squeamish. Very squeamish.

'Pretty and clever.' France smiles. 'You can call me Francis if you want. And that kid over there is Alfred. Never mind him, he's dating your country.'

'Must you report my relationship status to every-fucking-one we meet, France? I didn't think you'd be that insecure.' America's smile gets a sharper edge as France shoots him a heated glare. _So that kid do have some wit._ The Doctor muses.

'What are you planning to do, Clara?' He asks, eyeing warily the contents in the bags as if they were a timing bomb that was about to explode in his face. That is, if sugar, flour, eggs,...were made from explosive materials.

'This is not something that you can just wield you screwdriver around and will be solved, Doctor.' Clara says. 'You have to show Arthur that you're truly sorry.' She continues, her eyes soften. The Doctor really thinks she knows Arthur even more than him despite the fact that they only acquainted a few time in the past. She's British, after all. Technically Arthur's children.

'You dismissed his effort, so now you have to make that up, using double effort than he did.' Clara declares and walks to the kitchen. The Doctor and two other nations follow right behind. 'So...' She states, turning around suddenly, a challenging glint in her eyes.

'Roll up your sleeves, chin boy. We're making soufflé.'

* * *

'I told you to set it at 374 degrees!' Clara's cry of frustration echoes across the house, sending some birds to fleet off the nearby branches in fear. '_FAHRENHEIT_ SCALE!' The cry gets louder this time.

'How can I fucking know that you were talking about Fahrenheit scale when you Brits always use Celsius here?! I've been chided about this when-in-Rome-do-as-Romans-do problem long enough!' America snaps back furiously. One hour has passed and they've managed to turn Arthur's kitchen into the probably biggest mess accompanied with eerie black smoke in the universe (or _this_ universe only). The Doctor has witnessed Clara's culinary skill before so really, he didn't hold too much hope from the start. But this verbal battle is new. America has set the oven at 370 degrees instead of 190 like Clara thought he would. Just because Clara had assumed that he'd convert the degree to Celsius when he saw that Arthur set his oven in that scale when America thought she really meant Celsius.

'Of course I'd say it in Fahrenheit scale! I was talking to the bloody anthropomorphic personification of the United States at that time, wasn't I?' Clara retorts, her scold deepens. She is all covered in fluffy white flour and has cream stained her cheek. It could be considered a cute scene if it weren't for the murderous aura she is radiating.

'Urghh. Whatever.' America grumbles and throws the burned-to-almost-oblivion soufflé to the trash can. France has fleeted away right when he heard about the dish, claiming that he couldn't stand watching his soufflé being_ 'souffler'_, literally, leaving them to struggle by themselves. That frog-eating bastard.

'Hey, that's enough, okay?' The Doctor holds up his hand in a calming gesture. He has to interfere now or else these two will bite each other's head off, really. 'Look, I appreciate your help, but all three of us will just mess everything up. So why don't you, America, just wait when you, Clara, recite the recipe to me and I'll do it by myself.' He declares, clapping his hands together.

'But-' America starts, a look of genuine concern on his face. He has helped them a lot in the past one hour, looking eager to make something for Arthur. And the sheepish expression of his when talking about how happy Arthur would be when he receives the present...It did get him some good points from the Doctor. Maybe the kid is not always obnoxious, after all.

'Please, let me do this, Alfred.' The Doctor says America's name for the first time, smiling slightly. The young nation eyes go wide for a while and then soften. He understands.

'Okay then.' Alfred sits back down. 'I hope that your soufflé is edible.' He grins.

* * *

The Doctor managed to pull it off. Somehow.

His soufflé is puffy, with a nice colour of dark chocolate. Even Clara says that she has no idea how long it would take her to archive such success. And they handed Alfred the task of getting Arthur out of his room and finally was able to drag the smaller nation to the garden, kicking and yelling.

When the Doctor steps out and places his soufflé in front of his little boy, with his face and hair white with flour and his shirt is a mess, looking he just lost a wrestling match with a bag of flour, he wonders if Arthur can even maintain his appetite at the mere sight of the Doctor himself. It's kind of embarrassing.

'Oh my God what happened to you?' Arthur cries and stands up abruptly. He comes to the Doctor and wipes away some flour on his face, emerald eyes shine with concern.

'Hey, hey. It's fine.' The Doctor hushes, taking Arthur's hand. 'I'm sorry, Arthur. I shouldn't have done that. You put so much effort to make that batch of scones for me and I just...I'm sorry, I didn't know.' He lifts Arthur's hands and gently kisses some still-new scars on his knuckles. The Doctor didn't realize Arthur's fingers were covered in first-aid bandages when he presented him those scones, but he knows now. His little boy, little country tried. A lot.

'Silly man.' Arthur voice sounds like it is about to break. 'I'd get over it soon. There is no need to-'

'Shhh. Let me finish apologizing, will you?' The Doctor scolds. Behind him, Clara's face makes contact with her palm when America has an amused look on his face. Just who is doing the apologize thing?

'Okay then...' Arthur quirks an eyebrow skeptically. The Doctor sits him down and gives him a folk. He then sits on the opposite, face lightens up like a child on Christmas. 'I made that for you! Try it! Nearly blew up the kitchen in the progress but-'

'You nearly did what to my kitchen?!' Arthur gasps, the folk in his hand stabs right to the table. 'What. Have. You. Done?' The island nation's voice sharpens at the edge. The Doctor swallows nervously.

'Don't worry! Everything is under control now! I swear!' He cries. 'Just eat it!'

Arthur continues to eye the Doctor warily for a while and eventually sighs. He picks up the folk and gets a piece of soufflé to his mouth. The Doctor waits as Arthur chews and swallows. Even Clara and Alfred leans up to see his reaction. The Doctor prays to any higher power that Arthur won't faint face-first to the cake.

'It is...really delicious.' Arthur says, a small smile graces on his lips. 'Thank you, Doctor.'

Clara and Alfred breathes a sigh of relief when the Doctor jumps out of his chair and flails his hands around triumphantly. Arthur laughs and stands up to calm the overexcited Doctor down, holding him still by the arms.

'You did a great job. I can't believe it was the first time! You must have put your heart in it.' Arthur smiles, his cheeks tint pink a little. 'Say, you wouldn't mind teaching me, would you?'

Before either Alfred or Clara has time to protest, the Doctor agrees enthusiastically and drags Arthur to the kitchen. Their laughter fills up the house.

'Well, I hope the Doctor will at least help to rise Arthur's food from making-people-unconscious to nearly edible this time.' Alfred says, though he sounds like he's trying to convince himself too.

'Alfred...you should...try this.' Clara extends the folk to him when chewing a bit of the soufflé. Her face slowly turns a scary shade of white. The young nation accepts it agitatedly. The cake looks nice and warm, but it scares him somehow...

A bite is all it takes.

'Holy sh-' Alfred chokes. The bitter and burned flavour is literally trying to invade his throat. 'It's better than Arthur's scones, but still nowhere near normal!' He coughs. 'But why Arthur...oh, of course he'll find it delicious! He can eat his own cooking, after all!'

'I knew it! No one can make soufflé right in the first time!' Clara exclaims. 'He just got the appearance right!'

'Wait...and now they're baking more in there.' Alfred states, a look of horror crosses his face. 'And we'll have to eat the final product.' His voice sounds oddly like he is reading a notice of death. Now Alfred is panic. Yes, he - the United States of fucking A is afraid of soufflé (and potentially scones, too).

'Dear God...' Clara breathes out. Her brown eyes filled with dread. 'Run?'

'After you.'

**~End~**

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**AN:** This ending is way better than the angsty one in my head (which apparently, has England dead before the Doctor has a chance to apologize or sth like that, can't believe I actually thought of that). Sorry if it isn't funny, at all. I'm suck at humour. And if I messed up the temperature scale, please tell me so I can fix it ; A ; I did a lot of research for this but maybe it was still not enough.

Also, a cookie for anyone notices the Fourth Doctor's quote (too easy, eh?) :3

Reviews and prompts are welcome!~


	4. The Fourth Scarf

**AN: **Sorry for disappearing in the past three weeks but I've been pretty busy with exams and stuffs and just have enough time to pop up here and give you guys a one-shot that I wrote for Christmas (I'm_ not_ okay, Eleven is going to die and I'm not okay, really). I hope you enjoy it! The Doctor here is not Eleven but Four (I love him!) but I think you guys will be able to understand the story nonetheless, I just use some simple quotes and references ^^~

(As you can see I changed the cover photo. It's my own fanart and you can see the full version on my DA :")

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**Doctor Who/ Hetalia crossover series**

**The Fourth Scarf**

**Characters/Pairings:** Arthur Kirkland (England), 4th Doctor and a brief appearance of America. No pairing.

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In which there are a lot of jeally babies and a scarf.

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"You have a different one again." The kid commented dryly before sitting down near a tall man with dark curly hair on the hill. There was something off about them both. From the ancient look in their eyes to their age-defying features. How old were they, no one could tell.

"How could you know?" The man lifted up his hat, revealing a pair of eyes that had a slight glint of madness. The kid just shrugged. "This one is longer. And brighter." He replied coolly. "It's the fourth one."

"I didn't know you pay that much attention. I'm flattered." The man grinned.

"Don't be."

"Would you like a jelly baby?" The man offered. The kid eyed the small bag as if it was a timing bomb that was about to explode in his face, but he took one nonetheless. He didn't know what was that thing the man always gave him, but it helped. He had suffered too much these days. And now there was France. Memories haunted him everywhere he went: the barks of order and the sound of wars. It filled his head, infected his brain with venomous whispers of the dead.

But _this_ thing. Somehow, its sweet flavour chased away the choking scent of dust and the metallic taste of blood. It lured him to another world where there was only a clear blue sky with fluffy rabbits jumping on the golden field and with the presence of the bigger man next to him, he felt protected. Truth to be told, the kid didn't know the man. He didn't even know his name. The strange man just appeared one day, on that field. And that was it. The kid shielded that hill from the enemies, using the magic of the land. He kept it safe, invisible to the eyes of others. It was his only safe heaven, with a stranger lying under a big tree, waiting for him every time. A stranger that offered him colourful jellies which brought peace and watched over him as he slept.

The kid never asked who the man was nor he felt the need to. Maybe it was because a strange feeling at the back of his head told him not to venture, maybe he just didn't care. So did the man. They were two strangers happened to rest on the same place. That was it. They accepted each other. Internally.

"This is the last day I come here." Said the man and the kid's eyes snapped open. The sweet flavour in his mouth suddenly turned bitter.

"Oh." Was all he could utter. Deep down he knew that departure was inevitable and that his heaven couldn't last forever, but this was just so abrupt. He wanted so say something, but what could he say? He couldn't ask the man to stay. He knew the other had a life too. Or he could say _thank you_ for their time together? Yeah, that would do. But the words stopped at the tip of his tongue, tattooed themselves on his lips like a painful reminder that if he said those words, then everything would be over. The man would be gone and his dream would collapse. He didn't want that.

He knew it was selfish of him but even though he had never said it out loud, this stranger had become the closest thing he got to a family. He and his silly stories and his sweet jelly were what kept the kid going. The mere thought of coming back without seeing a familiar figure with a long and ridiculous scarf hurt. The kid felt tears was welling in his eyes. Funny. He never cried even when he was beaten nearly to death, but his tears decided to fall for a strange man.

"Don't cry." The man said, wiping away the tears that had started to take their courses down the boy's cheeks. "I had something for you." He took off his scarf and threw it over the smaller one's shoulder. The long thing almost swallowed up the whole boy. He looked like he was swimming in that sea of colourful fabrics. The man chuckled.

"Have this. I made it for you." Said he. "It will keep you warm and you will know that I'm always here with you." He placed his hand on where the boy's heart must be. "Be strong."

The kid was dumbfound for a moment, trying to comprehend what he had just heard. That man made this…for him? Warmth spread across his heart at the comfortable weigh of the scarf on his neck. He could smell the sweet flavour of jelly babies in its every fibre, like a distant memory of peaceful afternoons lying on the hill with no worries whatsoever. It felt like home.

"Thank you." The kid finally managed to utter, smiling ever so slightly through the vision full of tears. When was the last time his tears felt warm and blissful but not bitter and cold? He didn't know.

The man grinned and ruffled the kid's hair the last time before stood up and walked away. And as the night started to fall and the sun cast its last light, standing there with his hand held tight to the scarf, looking at the stranger had changed his life slowly lost in the sea of red and orange, the boy suddenly remembered.

"I haven't known your name!" He shouted.

The man stopped for a while, and in this blood-coloured world, his shadow on the ground looked old and melancholy. How old he really was? The kid watched curiously as the man turned back, his eyes hid behind his dark curly fringe. He then brought a hand to his nose.

_Who knows?_ He mouthed, grinning. Or was that _Who nose?_; the kid wasn't sure but he smiled nonetheless.

Yeah, _who knows?_

The golden light of the sun embraced the man figure and he disappeared, leaving the kid alone in the hill with a smile still graced on his face. It was the last day, but the moment had been prepared for.

They never said goodbye.

* * *

"You're wearing that scarf again. The thing is even bigger than you dude!" America comments while shoving gingerbread men and caked to his mouth nonstop. England really has no idea why did he invite the brat to spend Christmas with him.

"This scarf is even older that you, git." England hisses, flopping down to his sofa near the fireplace. "Have some respect."

"Oh? So how come it's still there but not shatter to God know what?" America raises an eyebrow. England is tempted to contact his fist with the other's face.

Eventually, the island nation just sighs and turns to the fireplace. "I never wear it to battlefields." He whispers to the flame, ignoring the younger nation. Maybe it is just his imagination but the fire begins to smear into an illusion. The sounds of the modern world, of America crazy eating, of the snow falling down and of the window freezing are all drowned out until there was only silent. And England opened his eyes again.

Before the blonde is a beautiful world with clear blue sky, rabbits as fluffy as the summer cloud and a fresh green hill. On the top of it, under a big tree is a small boy sleeping peacefully in a bundle of colourful scarf with a content look on his face. And from afar, England sees a strange man with different face standing there, smiling.

And he smiles, too.

**~End~**

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**AN:** Merry (soon) Christmas guys! I hope you survive through whatever Steven Moffat decides to throw to us on Christmas day ; v ; And I also hope that I've given you some Classic feels, the Classic series is amazing after all!

Reviews would be lovely~


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